"You look different, upside-down," said the olive oil bottle, poised precariously on the precipice of garlic powder.
"Is gravity abstract here?" replied the jar, swirling in its glass embrace as if defying the universe. Its lid twirled nonchalantly.
Perched among these towering alters of sustenance, the boundaries between what should be should not ceased to exist. In the depths of the pantry where condiments convene, answers were never sought, only containers.
A can of chickpeas opened its hushed whispers to the vast unknown. "Beyond these shelves, are there more of us? Or is the pantry eternal?"
"Perhaps we are the paradox," said the sage sesame seed. "We define the boundaries with our very existence."
Their conversation, a dialogue of the unspeakable and unexplained, continued to echo through unopened doorways and yet-to-be-explored paths of the pantry filled with limitless possibility.